


Third Company.

by hennethgalad



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, guards guards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23175844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: Beregond prepares to leave Gondor for Ithilien.16: "whatever betide, you have come to the end of the Gondor that you have known"
Kudos: 1
Collections: Back to Middle-earth Month 2020: Endings and Beginnings





	Third Company.

Beregond swung his legs over the bench and sat down at the long table, so familiar that only now, as he was leaving, he saw it clearly. The varnish was dented and flaked, the darkness of time and woodsmoke made the pale oak beneath stand out the brighter. The rest of his shift were coming in, he nodded and smiled to a few, but waited for Húrin and Cirion, his closest friends. They were arguing as usual, Beregond grinned to himself, and felt a sharp misery; he would miss this place. Not the buttery itself, there were no windows! But the rest of his company, the rest of the city, and most of all, his friends.  
"Húrin! By the stars can’t you stop arguing long enough to eat? And you, Cirion, you’re old enough to know better! You should not encourage him! What were you arguing about this time?"  
Cirion laughted "Don’t encourage him yourself!"  
Húrin swallowed a hunk of bread "Mithrandir said it was 'the end of the Gondor that we have known' and I said that I could not see any difference."  
Cirion shook his head and looked at Beregond "What can you say to such a fool?"  
Beregond frowned "I don’t know, I mean, what has changed, really? We're still in this hole, you’re still on the night shift for the rest of the month."  
"Oh Beregond! I keep forgetting that you are going away..." Húrin paused with his bread in mid-air, and looked around the crowded buttery, at the lanterns on the wall, and old Mablung heaping stew into people’s bowls, and the busy rattle of cutlery. "It will not be the same without you! Who will talk sense to this oaf Cirion if not you?"  
Cirion aimed a swipe at the air in front of Húrin's head, and he feigned to reel. Beregond laughed "I will miss you, I'll even miss old Mablung and his mystery stew!"  
"Where will you live?"  
"Faramir talks of the woods above the Cormallen. There’s a fine view of the sweep of the river, and timber aplenty. And good stone, many fair dwellings lie in ruin, either for rebuilding or we shall reuse the cut stone elsewhere. It is exciting, he is so full of plans, he is building a house for my family, right beside his, as befits the captain of the guard of Ithilien!"  
"Your promotion is confirmed then?"  
"By the steward himself, this very day."  
"But the steward is... Throw me in the river! Faramir himself is the steward now!" Húrin exclaimed, and they laughed, but Cirion was serious.  
"When do you leave, my friend?"  
"In two days, alas. My family will await me here, for no stone has yet been laid in Ithilien. But it is less than thirty leagues as the eagle flies, and there will be much traffic, for... forever!" Beregond laughed and Húrin cheered and toasted him in ale.

But Beregond, his thoughts in turmoil at the thought of leaving the only city he knew, was still looking about him, and seeing familiar expressions on familiar faces, and knowing that in truth, Húrin was right, nothing had changed at all, though the Dark Lord had been killed off, apparently forever. Beregond sighed, they were all more at ease than he had ever known, the threat of invasion had been there all his life, the change was astonishing, but he was sure that the habit of alert vigilance would linger for... a very long time. Cirion, with his skill at guessing people's thoughts, smiled at him "The hands of the king are the hands of a healer." he said softly.  
Húrin snorted "If he has such a gift, let him use it, I say, let him stand shifts in the Houses of Healing. Gondor managed perfectly well with a steward, we don’t need all this mummery."  
"But do you not love the king?"  
"Why would I? I only caught a glimpse of him from up on the third level, when he entered. Love! You’re a bit soft at times, Beregond!"  
"Beregond" said Cirion "Do you love the king?"  
Beregond gaped, thinking back to the perceptive grey eyes and the kindly smile. "Well... Not as I love my lord Faramir, but perhaps, in time..."  
"You see? Soft! Does Faramir even know your name?"  
Cirion laughted "He does now!"  
"But he always did, he was always kind, remembering to give us time off if there was something wrong at home. A captain like Faramir, well, we would do anything for him."  
Húrin scraped the bread round his empty stew bowl, and ate it swiftly. They looked at him, it was plain that he would speak "Faramir! Yes, he is everything you say, and more. But his father? His father was a tragic figure. You, Beregond, you were not promoted to captain because your father was a captain, you were promoted for valour. But kings, or stewards, even, they are given the job because of who their father is, not for valour, or skill, or even wit! Now, I've got three brothers, and two of them are dead by their own reckless folly. But if a king is a reckless fool, more than just idiots will die.   
And what can we do to stand between such a king and the city? Or between such a king and the reunited kingdom? Think of the army that could be raised, by this one man! What if he wants to go south? Or east? The elves are leaving, Mithrandir is going, who will restrain him? Or his spoilt grandson? Dark Lords! Those Black Riders were once men, kings of men. There were nine of them! Giving so much power to one person is dangerous, too dangerous for my liking. Remember Númenor!  
Númenor... I fear that the same story will happen again."  
Cirion sat back and folded his hands in his lap, looking questioningly at Beregond.  
"Oh Húrin! I agree with all that you say! But what... What shall we do? Shall we approach King Elessar and Queen Arwen, in their bliss, and say "Thanks, you can go now."  
"Yes. Why not. He is a gifted healer, doubtless the lady also. They could live a simple, comfortable life, and do much good. And speak to Faramir, he has studied with the elves. Remember, only the wild wood elves even have a king any more. I was talking to one of the sons of Elrond, and he said that wisdom really needs more than one person having ideas, they like to have everyone pick holes in a plan and then see what they think. Whereas here, with Denethor, you get plans like 'burn Faramir alive'. And only Beregond here, and Mithrandir were able to stop him. It’s daft, giving all that power to one person! And Mithrandir will be gone soon, and then what will we do?"  
Beregond looked at Cirion "These words mean nothing to you?"  
Cirion sat up, as though to speak, but the door opened and young Bergil came racing in, threw his arm around his father and said "Here you are father! A letter for you."  
Beregond grabbed his son by the waist and tousled his hair, while Bergil laughed and kicked his legs. Húrin lifted his hands into fists, and Bergil faced him, small fists clenched, chin up.  
"Well Cirion, if this young tearaway is leaving, it really will be the end of Gondor as we know it. Why, we might even get a little peace!"


End file.
